A Father's Influence
by jago-ji
Summary: A Father's Day story, set a little over 25 years ago at Point Pleasant, New Jersey. Three fathers have very different impacts on their children's development. You know them as adults, now see them in their early years.


_Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters in Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series, just a bit younger. Doing this for fun, not profit. Reviews always appreciated. _

**A Father's Influence: First Meeting**

_Father's Day, twenty-five years ago at Point Pleasant, New Jersey._

"Stephanie, don't go too far. Stay within sight," a petite brown-haired woman called out to the little curly-headed girl. The little girl had a plastic bucket in one hand and a plastic shovel in the other as she trooped down the sandy slope to the ocean's edge.

"Okay, Mommy. But I have to get a good place now before all the good sand is taken." The little girl had her place all staked out. It was the perfect site to build Wonder Woman's fortress.

She'd barely started when a boy plopped down in the sand beside her. He had dark skin and dark hair and even his eyes were dark. With her porcelain white skin and blue eyes, she looked like a ghost next to him. They both stared at each other for a long moment before the girl spoke.

"Hi. My name's Stephanie. What's yours?"

The boy just stared, not answering her.

Shrugging at his silence, she explained, "I'm building a fortress. It's going to be Wonder Women's fortress and it's going to be strong and big and even the bad guys can't get to her when she is in it. Wonder Woman can fly." She twisted sharply so that the towel she had tied around her neck swung across her shoulders. "This is my cape. I can fly, too." She tipped her bucket filled with sand over the last bucketful she'd dumped. It stayed in a bucket shape for a few seconds before it crumpled into a loose pile.

The boy took the bucket from her hands and leaning toward the wetter sand behind him, he scooped up a heavy bucketful. After he patted it firmly into the bucket, he asked, "Where does this one go?"

Smiling, the little girl pointed to a spot about a foot from the last overturned sand pile. He carefully flipped the bucket and tapped it on the bottom, easing the tightly packed sand out. The result was a perfect tower of sand.

"Let me try," the little girl cried. She scooted closer to the ocean and filled the bucket with wet sand and punched it down just like the boy had. Then she tipped the bucket over and lifted it up. Another perfect little tower!

She looked over at the dark-skinned boy, her face shining with pride, her blue eyes sparkling. The boy leaned over on his hands and knees and kissed her cheek. The little girl's eyes widened and she reached her hand up and rubbed the back of her neck. Embarrassed, they both pulled back and then the little boy stood up and ran down the beach. She watched him until he was out of sight and when her neck stopped tingling, she returned to building her fortress.

The fortress was taking shape. Each new bucket of sand was piled on top the last till the fortress was about two and half feet high. The little curly-haired girl was humming happily to herself as she shaped the wet sand into towers. She had on the typical one-piece bathing suit five-year-old girls wore to the beach, plus tied around her neck was a long blue towel that draped down her back like a cape.

She was too engrossed in her task to hear when her mother called her to lunch. The woman turned to her husband, "Frank, would you please go down there and get your daughter. Lunch will be ruined if we don't eat it promptly at noon." The man glanced over at his diminutive wife, knowing it was futile to question the necessity of a strict eating time for ham sandwiches and macaroni salad. He trudged down the beach to collect his daughter and her 'construction' equipment.

"Hey, Pumpkin, that's quite some castle you're building," a father's pride showing in his voice and wide smile. The little girl looked up at him with exasperation painted on her face.

"It's not a _castle_, Daddy. _It's a fortress_. It's Wonder Woman's fortress." She went back to smoothing out the sand that formed the walls between the towers.

"Yes, I can see that now. A fortress, and a mighty strong one at that. You've even put in gun turrets." Her father said pointing to the rounded corners.

"Those are towers, Daddy, so Wonder Woman can see the bad guys coming."

He smiled indulgently at his imaginative daughter. "Pumpkin, it's time for lunch. Your mother wants you to come up to the table and eat."

"Oh, not yet, I'm just about done. Just five more minutes, please, Daddy?"

"OK, but just five minutes more, then I expect you to come without me having to tell you again, all right, Sweetheart?"

"Yes, Daddy," her blue eyes lighting up as she smiled at the gentle man looking down at her.

The father climbed back up the slope to his wife and older daughter who were laying out a picnic lunch on an old wooden table underneath a tattered sun umbrella. His pretty little daughter, so perfect in her summer shorts and pressed blouse, came running up to him. "Happy Father's Day!" she cried and threw her arms around his waist. He tweaked her neat little pigtails and grinned down at her.

"Thank you, Val, everything looks wonderful. I'm hungry as a horse."

"Oh, Daddy, people can't be horses," she said.

Back down at the water's edge, a dark-haired boy about seven years old was chasing the ocean waves as they ebbed and flowed across the sand. Bored, he looked around at the few people remaining on the beach. He spotted the little girl wearing a towel around her neck. She was carefully patting down wet sand over the walls of the fort she had built.

He grinned in anticipation and sauntered over to her. She didn't look up, even when he cleared his throat. He reached out with his foot and kicked over one of the towers. That got her attention. She stood up, hands on her hips and yelled, "What did you do that for?" He pushed over a second tower. "Stop that!" she yelled, a hiccup preceding her next yell.

Her eyes got big as a second dark-haired boy ran up to them and pushed the first boy to his knees. "Leave her alone, she wasn't done building it yet." The first boy got to his feet and sized up the dark-skinned intruder. He was much smaller and younger. The first boy punched him in the nose.

"That'll teach ya to mind your own business." He stood over him with clenched fists, daring the smaller boy to hit him back.

Without warning, the dark-skinned boy tackled the taller one around his waist and they went tumbling down the sandy slope to the water's edge. The waves crashed over them as they both continued pummeling each other, rolling around in the sand and seawater.

From opposite ends of the beach, two men came running over to the fighting boys. They both watched for a minute, then reached out and each hauled a boy up by an arm.

"OK, boys, that's enough! What started this?" said the man holding the younger boy. The boy was the spitting image of his father—smooth brown skin, dark silky hair almost black and deep rich chocolate brown eyes that sparked with anger.

The other man sported classic Italian good looks—olive skin, dark wavy hair, dark brown eyes and a devilish smile. Both boys refused to talk and just stood there, looking sullenly at each other. The men shot each other a knowing look. Grabbing their sons by the arm, the fathers turned and walked back down the beach the way they had come.

One father spoke softly to his son in Spanish, asking him to explain why he had been fighting. The little boy told him he was protecting a super hero and her fortress from the mean boy who was knocking it down. The father looked at his son, trying to hide the pride and smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth. He gave his son a quick hug and said, "You were right to protect the honor of a beautiful woman, Carlos, even a super hero. I'm proud of you, mijo."

Further down the beach, the other father slapped the back of his son's head and said, "You shoulda taken that boy, Joey. He was smaller than you. Next time, hit him first and hit him harder and don't be afraid to use your feet."

Shaken by the sudden spate of violence she had just witnessed, the little girl slumped down by her ruined fortress. The tingling at the back of her neck was fading again, but the image of her rescuer, the dark-skinned boy in black swim trunks, was etched on her mind. A loud rumble sounded from her belly. She was smiling as she grabbed her bucket and sashayed up the beach. She hoped her mom had remembered to pack the Tastykakes.


End file.
